


Count on Me.

by EliCat, withoutwords



Category: Jongens | Boys (2014)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Marc's POV, Set throughout movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4224537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliCat/pseuds/EliCat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwords/pseuds/withoutwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Sieg’s been counting again. Maybe he’s counted all the things he likes about Marc and counted all the friends he would lose if they knew about Marc and counted all the times he can think of when his mother said she loved him no matter what.</p>
<p>Marc won't let him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Count on Me.

**Author's Note:**

> [EliCat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EliCat/pseuds/EliCat) came to me a while ago and suggested we co-write on a piece, so here we are! We both have a mutual love for this movie, and these boys, and had so much fun together exploring the movie through fic. 
> 
> We hope you have fun with it too!

Sieger makes the team on a Tuesday.

They’re fast, Sieger and Stef, definitely faster than Tom, maybe even better than Marc at a push. They’re determined, too, in a way Marc’s never been and certainly wasn’t two years ago. Marc joined athletics for his friend, Greg, but where Greg lacked natural skill Marc found he had it in spades. Greg quit and Marc stayed and he’s one friend down, sure, but he found something he’s good at. He knows a lot of people aren’t so lucky. He knows a lot of people have to work a lot harder, have to dedicate their whole selves and all their attention; but Marc's always lacked that certain kind of focus.

These passing moments - each straining step and tricky chord - he’d rather live them right now than plan for them tomorrow. He’d rather do, than think; rather know than doubt. He doesn’t want to lose control, spin out and think _what just happened?_ He doesn’t want to fear the answer. Marc’s never been afraid of anything.

“I’m Sieg,” is the first thing Marc hears him say. Coach had just done the introductions, so Marc says,

“Yeah,” then realises he’s doing that thing. Smart, his mum says, and she doesn’t mean _good at school_. Marc lets his (smart) mouth unfold into a smile. “Marc.”

Marc’s not usually friends with shy people. He gravitates to wit, and self-assuredness; he likes to meet his match. Sieger, though, is small, hunching limbs. Rosy cheeks and breathy laughs, like he’s afraid to be seen as anything other than quiet and agreeable. It’s not rude, though, he’s not arrogant or dismissive. He’s just someone who needs a little attention.

A little focus.

*

Marc kissed a girl when he was thirteen. Dry, quivering lips and the damp, suffocating smell of someone’s closet. She whispered something to him in the dark, something rude, but Marc hadn’t been listening and he’d chosen to forget. She was pretty; she had nice hair and soft hands and all the other boys liked her. Marc just didn’t know her, and he didn’t think there was much point kissing people you didn’t know.

Or didn’t want to know.

He kissed her but he was thinking about his friend Jorn, instead, and what he was doing. He was thinking about summer coming up and how they would spend it. He was thinking about going home to bed, and making pancakes with Neeltje in the morning and annoying his dad into teaching him _Here Comes The Sun_ on the guitar.

Marc kissed a girl when he was thirteen, but it was the first and last time.

(When he kissed Jorn it was the first and last time, too, but that one hurt a lot more.)

*

Marc’s surprised how quickly the four of them click. He knows Coach is too, by the way he flusters and mutters and directs. He’s excited. They’re four different people, and four different styles, but together they’re one fluid stride after the other, in perfect sync. 

The silence left by Sieger’s shy character is made up for in Marc’s rambling and confident speech. Stef, whose thoughts travel at the speed of his stride, is brought back to the task at hand by Sieger’s dedication to the sport. Stef’s playful demeanor reminds Tom to stop and not take life so seriously. And Marc, well Marc just does better with someone like Sieg around. Someone disciplined, and challenging; someone to aspire to.

*

Marc enjoys the time he spends with his team. He likes to run with them at practice, likes to horse around with them at the lake, but he especially appreciates his time alone with Sieger. He likes the little things he sees when it’s just the two of them; how Sieger keeps his head up just a bit more. Marc likes how he can she his shoulders relax. He likes Sieg’s real smile, which isn’t the same smile that he’s seen in photos. When Sieger really smiles, his eyes crinkle and his entire face lights up. 

The thing Marc notices most is that Sieger seems to slow down. He stops counting and cycling through the to-do list stored in his head. He’s just Sieger, just a boy, and when Marc presses his mouth to Sieg’s he can see it there in his eyes. Sieg, and nothing else. His lips are blue up close, and he tastes metallic, cold, but the sweet relief of it; the nervous way Sieg leans in to give it back makes Marc feel warm. It makes him feel calm.

Sieg’s quiet, afterwards, a gentle, “I should go home,” and “See you tomorrow.” Marc’s too busy watching the water drip down the nape of Sieg’s neck, his fingers clutching at his shirt as he pulls it on. He’s too busy throwing furtive glances and his own shy smiles that he doesn’t realise Sieg’s quiet because he’s unhappy (Marc’s so happy he could burst). That he’s back inside his head again, and being someone else. 

“I’m not gay,” Sieg says, and oh. Right.

That’s what Marc tried to tell himself, too, once. “Of course you’re not.” 

*

Marc knows it’d be easier to give in, but. He likes the gentle tremor in his belly when Sieg looks at him. He likes the way Sieg still crowds close, the smell of his deodorant and sweat. His sweet shampoo and musty gym bag, something else that must be _Sieg_. He likes everything.

“If you had to choose,” Sieg is asking while they eat their sorbets, the smacking slurps of their lips. “Never run again, or never ride your bike again. You can’t have both.”

“What sort of game is that? That’s stupid.”

“You have to choose.”

“My bike,” Marc says without any doubt, and Sieg seems surprised by the admittance. “Or the expensive car I’m going to have one day.”

Sieg’s laughter is light and infectious, and Marc feels a sense of pride for making him feel this way. For knocking all his guards down. “If you had to choose,” Marc says, throwing Sieg’s words back at him. “Both socks up or both socks down?”

This time Sieg laughs so hard he throws his head back, his mouth shiny and his teeth stark. Marc just stares. “Down,” he says, pointing his sorbet to the ground. “I go so fast I might set them on fire.”

Marc scoffs at his joke, “Idiot,” but he knows he can’t pretend.

Marc likes everything.

*

Marc notices how Sieger gets quiet around the team. That when they go to the beach to train he keeps to himself on the bus and hunches his shoulders by the campfire. He only starts to open up again on their late night bike ride when Sieg can’t sleep, and Marc is fuelled by the thought that he’s the reason. That Marc is stuck in his head. 

Maybe Sieg’s been counting again. Maybe he’s counted all the things he likes about Marc and counted all the friends he would lose if they knew about Marc and counted all the times he can think of when his mother said she loved him no matter what. Maybe when he ran out of things to count, he decided to count how many seconds it would take him to get to the beach and back if he ran without stopping. But Marc won’t let him.

Marc sees it, sees how Sieger is relaxed again when Marc climbs out of bed and joins him. They laugh, sing, holler and hoot. They leave the world behind, just one small light on a big, vast highway.

When Sieg kisses him, Marc likes that he can see Sieg coming out of his shell. He knows he can be certain Sieg likes him back, now, the way he’s hungry for it and smiling because of it. That he can’t control himself anymore, and can’t pretend, because they’re friends, yes, but it’s different. It’s _more_.

“Do you believe in heaven?” Sieg asks quietly when they're settled in the sand and looking up at the stars. Sieg’s thumb is making patterns in Marc’s palm, and Marc’s fingers are curled in Sieg’s jumper. They’re like one whole being, like a circle with no beginning or end.

“I don’t know,” Marc says honestly, and when he looks at Sieg he notices the way his chin is tipped up, contemplating the sky. Marc just thinks it looks nice. “Do you want to?”

“I think so.”

“OK, then you should. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“You don’t care what people think?”

“I guess, if I need to, but Sieg,” Marc rolls his body in, skates his hand across to lay flat on Sieg’s belly. “She was _your_ mum, and it’s _your_ life, and _you_ get to choose heaven, or ghosts, or God or whatever, yeah? No-one else.”

When Sieg stops looking at the stars, it’s only to look at Marc the same way. It’s only to curve in and stretch out and align their bodies, their hearts, and their mouths.

They kiss, and Marc hopes that’s something else Sieg believes in.

*

Marc takes Neeltje to the fair with his mother later in the week. He spends his time winning stuffed animals for his little sister, perching the giggling girl on his shoulders so she can grab the stuffed bear from the top shelf. When he spots Sieg a few games over he walks up and smiles at him over his shoulder (the knowledge Sieger isn’t ready for a kiss in the middle of a fair hurts, it hurts a lot, but he understands). He wants to reach out, just give him a hug, but a girl gets in the way. She kisses Sieg and Marc’s heart breaks again. He’s sad in the way that hurts his chest and makes his whole body slink back. It hurts, hurts more than the time he found out Jorn wouldn’t be coming back to camp. 

Sieg looks him in the eyes, as if expecting Marc to swoop in and save him, but Marc doesn’t have the patience right now, he doesn’t have any strength. 

 

Marc watches him walk away wordlessly while he holds the stuffed animal he has just won. Minutes ago he would have given it to Sieger, would have told him it was adorable, just like him and watched his cheeks heat up. Marc goes home that night and can’t sleep. Sieger occupies his thoughts and every time he begins to drift off his eyes snap open when he remembers the events of that night and the cycle begins again.

*

The next day, everything is off. Marc keeps tripping on his own feet and when he reaches out to hand Sieg the baton, it fumbles between their once in sync hands and tumbles to the ground. He’s angry at Sieg. Angry at him for lying, for breaking his heart, for not loving him anymore.

He would have found it cute before, when Sieg, mild mannered and quiet, plays with the strings on his sweatshirt with his nimble fingers. Marc wants Sieger to apologize, so everything can be okay again. He wants to let him rest his head against his chest. But he can’t give in, can’t let himself be weak and vulnerable when he was hurt just hours before. “What do you want?” he asks in a monotone voice.

Sieger jumps away when his father comes by, seemingly ashamed of Marc. Sieg asks if he wants to swim. He does. He wants to kiss Sieg in the water again, sit by the lake, smooth his hands over his calloused palms, lay on their towels and look at the stars. So he says yes. Not too eagerly of course. Marc can’t let him think that everything is okay now, that the fair can be forgotten, but it’s a start.

*

Marc is angry at himself for letting Sieg hurt him like this. When he sees the boy in a car with his brother, he feels dejected again. He knows that it shouldn’t be worth it, that he shouldn’t try again, that he should get over Sieger and move on, find someone who loves him as much as he loves them. He’s irate when Sieger pushes him, as if he’s done something wrong, as if he’s the one who stood someone up after disappointing them already. He just keeps disappointing him and Marc just keeps coming back.

_That’s_ the problem. He knows it hurts so much, he knows he let’s it happen because he still cares about Sieger, more than he wants to admit. So he turns around, startled, worried, when he hears Sieger shrieking, insisting that Eddy stop the car. He turns back, sees him almost jump out of the moving car, and realizes in that moment that losing Sieg is one of the worst things he can imagine.

And Sieg knows it too.

*

When they win the race it’s exhilerating. He gets a high when he runs, when his heart beats fast and his breathing gets heavy; when he imagines the world is just this moment and nothing will get close enough to hurt him.

That pleasure, though, that’s nothing compared to when Sieg comes back to him on the moped. When he runs to the door and knocks fervently as if his life depends on it. Marc opens the door and it feels amazing to have Sieger wrap his arms so tight around him, like letting go would mean Marc would float away forever.

Marc let’s Sieger’s tears soak his shirt as he apologizes over and over, begging for forgiveness and as much as he wants to stay headstrong, tell Sieg it’s over, Marc can’t.

“Of course Sieg, of course.” he says softly and pulls back to see his face before kissing him softly. He had ignored Sieger’s quiet sorry, before the race. He had walked away. But he can’t be the guy who plans for tomorrow. He can only know how good this is right now. 

“Ask me,” Sieg says, quiet and close and playing with the zipper of Marc’s jacket. Marc’s fingers tighten their grip around Sieg’s arms, he feels like wire, like he’s strung so tight he might snap apart in a million directions. “If I had to choose.”

“That’s a stupid game.”

“It’s not a game, Marc,” he says, shaking his head. “If I had to choose. You or…”

Marc can hear far off voices and the scuff of their feet, kicking together. He can’t hear anything but his own, trembling breath.“Me or…”

“There’s nothing,” Sieger says, and he’s tipping his mouth up and he looks so small, like he’s come here for shelter from a storm. “There’s nothing else I would choose.”

*

Marc remembers the first time he says I love you. He could feel the anxiety rising in his chest like high tide. He has his arms wrapped around Sieg and it just feels right. They have finished their last race of the season and the sun is the golden yellow that only occurs in the late afternoon. He loves the way it warms his skin and casts long shadows on their faces as they lay on the cool grass, still covered in a wet mist from the night before. He runs a hand through Sieg’s hair and rests it on his cheek. It comes out quietly, just above a whisper when he says it, but he knows Sieg can hear, because he says it back.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find EliCat on tumblr, [here](http://littleravioli17.tumblr.com), and you can find me on tumblr, [here](http://thisusandeveryone.tumblr.com)
> 
> :)


End file.
